


the world is changed because you are made

by fadeoutslow



Category: Formula 1 RPF
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-10-12
Updated: 2013-10-12
Packaged: 2017-12-29 05:47:40
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,663
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1001727
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fadeoutslow/pseuds/fadeoutslow
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The curve of Nico's ass rewrites history, basically.</p>
            </blockquote>





	the world is changed because you are made

Jenson runs his fingers through Nico's hair. "You growing this out?" he asks, because it's getting longer now, just how he likes it.

Nico shrugs, shifts himself on the bed, rolling over on to his stomach. "Maybe," he says. "I don't know."

"You should."

"I haven't decided," Nico says, imperious.

Nico likes to be contrary sometimes, Jenson knows, but Nico also likes to be looked at, more than almost anything, and Nico-with-longer-hair gets more attention than Nico-with-shorter-hair, so Jenson's betting he'll keep it.

Jenson moves down the bed, stopping at Nico's arse, licking over the arching curve of it, biting gently into the firm muscle. And Nico's hair might be flawlessly beautiful, but, to Jenson's mind, the most perfect part of Nico, the one deserving of the most attention and study, is his arse.

And, judging from some of the reactions he's seen, Jenson's pretty certain the rest of the paddock agrees with him.

He remembers when he used to think that Nico didn't realise the effect he had on people, but he's wiser now, because if there's one thing Nico Rosberg is absolutely and perfectly aware of, it's how beautiful he is. And it's not some big-note ego thing, it's just a simple fact, something that Nico acknowledges with no false modesty whatsoever.

Jenson loves that about him. 

Nico looks back over his shoulder. "Are you going to fuck me?" he asks, the impatience in his voice plain.

"Yes," says Jenson, "I think I am."

 

It's not like Dan's getting some kind of _complex_ about it, but he keeps catching himself looking at the other drivers' hips, mentally comparing them to his own. He knows he's not _fat_ or anything, that it's a matter of simple bone structure, but Jev's been making sly, needling remarks about "child-bearing hips" and Dan might grin, tell him to piss off, but if he's honest, it's getting to him.

And it's all right for Jev, who has, like, almost literally no arse at all and those tiny weird chicken legs but Dan's never been naturally super-skinny. It's something he has to work at, and up until now he's been satisfied with himself but the blow-up about this whole thing in the media has made him a little paranoid.

He's walking through the paddock, trying to focus, put all the trivia out of his mind but Rosberg's in front of him, and Dan can't help but steal a comparative look. And the guy has pretty narrow hips, yeah, but his arse is kind of... sticky-out-y, Dan thinks. Like if it was on a girl you might call it a bubble butt. Dan likes bubble butts. But only on girls. If that arse was on a girl, that would be a very fine arse indeed. Dan would be all over that arse, if it belonged to a girl. Which it doesn't, because Nico is most definitely _not_ a girl. He's a guy. And yeah, he's a guy who happens to be prettier than most of the girls Dan has ever met (and Dan is a Formula 1 driver, he's met some _very_ pretty girls) but he's still a guy, and Dan may be many things, but sexually confused is not one of them.

And yet, somehow, he's still staring at Nico's arse. It's kind of hypnotic, the way it moves when he walks, one foot in front of the other, muscles moving in time with his steps.

Nico glances back at him, giving Dan an amused little smile and _shit_. Dan can feel himself blushing, and he stops, casual as he can but probably completely obvious, pretending to tie one of his shoes. When he stands up, Nico's nearly out of sight, heading around a corner, but before he disappears he looks back, again, lifting his hand and waving haughtily, like he's a princess and Dan's some try-hard peasant.

And that's a pretty fitting analogy, Dan thinks, sighing to himself, waving back half-heartedly. 

It's just this Red Bull thing, he's sure. It's messing with his head, that's all.

 

"You're staring at his ass," Sebastian says, loud enough that several people walking in the opposite direction give him _looks_. Like he cares, and Nico's far enough in front of them that he probably can't hear. Probably.

"I'm not," Heikki says, but he is. He doesn't even look away when he says it, Sebastian notes, his eyes glued to Nico's rear like he's mesmerised. 

"You are," Sebastian says, staring himself now, because, he has to admit, Nico's ass is well worth the attention. Lifted and tight and round and firm like you could take a bite out of it. Almost a smaller version of Heikki's ass, Sebastian thinks, only not quite as perfect, because nothing is as perfect as Heikki's ass.

Sebastian's ass is not perfect, he knows. It's serviceable, sure, muscled enough that it holds up to the strains of driving and braking, but it's kind of flat, comparatively, and it stays that way no matter how hard he works on it. Heikki gives him some bullshit Finnish saying whenever he complains, something that seems to translate to _function not form_ , but right now Heikki seems pretty fucking preoccupied with Nico's _form_ , forget the function. 

"It's better, isn't it?" Sebastian says, hating how insecure he sounds.

"What?" Heikki asks.

"His ass," answers Sebastian. "It's better than mine, isn't it?"

Heikki finally looks away from Nico's ass, turning to Sebastian as they walk along. There's a faintly amused smirk lurking at the corner of his mouth, and it's all Sebastian can do not to grab him and kiss it off, right here in the paddock, right in front of everyone and fuck the consequences.

"It's too big," Heikki says.

"What is?" Sebastian replies, confused.

"Rosberg's ass." Heikki gestures in front of them. "It's too big, too high. His trainer isn't doing his job properly, letting his ass get that big."

"Oh." Sebastian smiles, relieved. "My trainer would never do that."

"No," Heikki says, "your trainer knows his job."

"Yeah," says Sebastian, looking at Heikki from under his eyelashes, biting his lip, just the way he knows Heikki likes. "He does."

 

Mostly, when Adrian Newey walks through the paddock, he switches off, goes inside his own head. Which is easier for many reasons, the main one being that he automatically tunes out anyone who tries to talk to him. If it's Bernie or someone else important, he'll make the effort to respond but it's generally more simple to just keep walking, face giving the impression of far away concentration, a person thinking of vastly more important things than trivial conversation. It doesn't seem to offend anyone, not really, which is helpful. He's cultivated the image of eccentricity over the years, played up to the 'mad genius' stereotype enough that it gets him a lot of leeway from people, and that is definitely a good thing.

He's not a genius, though, not in his opinion, anyway. It's more that he sees the world differently. Like now, because today he's not so much in his head, he's looking around. There's one particular detail on the car that is bothering him, something that is working well but he knows could be working better, a thing that isn't yet _quite_ how it should be. No one else would even notice, he's sure, but it troubles him, and he knows the solution is somewhere here, around him, some line or shape that he'll see and say _aah_ because he _knows_.

_Air_ is what Adrian sees, the way it moves, the flow of it, over and around objects, the way those objects move _through_ the air, efficiently or not so efficiently, slower or faster.

He likes _faster_ but straight line speed is simple, unchallenging; it's moving an object through a corner at the highest possible acceleration while still keeping it attached to the ground, staying its projected course... that's what takes his breath away, the thing that keeps him going after all this time, a puzzle for which there will never be an ultimate solution. There's only a set of elegant compromises, but each one is better than the last, more perfect, straining within its allotted limitations, pushing at the boundaries but never once stepping beyond them.

Today, in the paddock, there are planes, angles, movement. Mostly ordinary, mostly boring, but here's one, an elegant curve, making its way through the air ahead of him, and Adrian can see the potential there. He makes a mental note, brain recording the exact arc of it, the way it shifts through the air that surrounds it.

His study is unfortunately interrupted when the owner of said curve turns around, giving him what can only be described as a pointed look. And yes, he's technically been staring at the Rosberg boy's arse, but there's nothing untoward about it. It's all in the name of forward development. 

And Adrian smiles, vaguely, turning into the Red Bull hospitality area, already opening his notebook, taking out his pen.

 

Mark's not generally one for nostalgia, he doesn't like looking back. _No regrets_ , he's always said, but the knowledge of his retirement is starting to weigh on him a little, make him reconsider. Because there _are_ things he regrets, things he would change given the chance. Nothing big, not really, but small, almost incidental events. Unkind words, conclusions jumped to, chances missed, that kind of stuff.

He makes his way through the paddock, and this is something he won't miss, the pretentious people and unnecessary, ostentatious wealth. It's never suited him, and though he's learned to make the most of it, use it for his own purposes, he's never been really at home here.

Of course, it does have its pleasures. Like this one, walking along behind young Nico, enjoying the view. He always did have a truly spectacular arse, and Mark could swear it's only getting better with age.

"Hey, Britney," he says, falling into step beside him. Mark certainly doesn't regret that, the nickname, not in the slightest. That was one of his more inspired moments, actually, if he says so himself.

But he was kind of mean to Nico, back in the day, took a little too much pleasure in making him squirm, watching the way his face would redden, blush spreading prettily over his cheeks.

Kid's never held against him, though, and Mark will give him credit for that. "Hey, old man," he says, smiling at Mark.

" _Old_?" Mark says, grinning back at him.

Nico shrugs. "You're retiring, aren't you? That's what old guys do."

"Still give you a run for your money, boy,"

"I bet you could," says Nico, making the words sound like the dirtiest, filthiest thing imaginable. He runs one hand through his hair showily, giving Mark a _look_ , and Mark wonders what he'd have to do these days to get Nico to blush.

Considerably more than he ever did in the past, that's for sure. He can think of a few things, as it happens, and they're not unpleasant thoughts, not at all.

Because that's one thing he _does_ regret, that he didn't get his dick in that perfect arse when he had the opportunity. But Nico was so young, and Mark was trying so very hard to be good in those days.

Now, he doesn't give a shit. "Maybe I'll take you up on that," he says.

"What?"

"Giving me a run for my money."

"Ah," Nico says, kindly, "I'm covered in that department right now." 

"Really," Mark says, because he knows about Nico and Jenson, everyone knows that, but never in a million years would he have guessed the two of them would be anything close to exclusive. _There you go_ , he thinks, pleased that he can still be surprised in this place.

"But if I ever have a vacancy, I'll keep you in mind," says Nico, nodding, perfectly serious.

Mark can't help but laugh. "You do that," he says, then leans in close, almost whispering. "And you tell Jense to fuck you extra hard tonight, just for me."

He steps back, and Nico looks at him, face an almost irresistible combination of angelic and devilish as his tongue swipes over his bottom lip, and _fuck_ , Mark muses, he really did miss something special there.

"I'll tell him," Nico says, his voice low. "And I'll think about you," he says, even more quietly. "While he fucks me."

And _jesus fucking christ_ , Mark's suddenly so hard he's not sure he can even form coherent thoughts, but Nico just wanders away, self-satisfied little smirk plastered across his mouth.

_Bastard_. Mark shakes his head, adjusting the front of his jeans, probably failing to be in any way subtle, but what the fuck ever.

 

Lewis hasn't been himself since Nicole dumped him. He knows this, he can admit this, and he feels like he should get points for that, like acknowledging the fact should help him move on, get back to some semblance of normality, but apparently knowing what the problem is is only the first step. _Solving_ the problem, well, that's a whole other level of I-don't-have-the-faintest-fucking-clue, because the only solution he can think of is to get back with Nicole and Nicole couldn't have made it clearer that that is not something that is going to happen, so here he is. Grumpy and out of sorts and, frankly, horny as fuck.

And yeah, not himself.

At least, that's his excuse, and he's sticking to it, because Nico's in the garage and Lewis can't fucking stop staring at his fucking ass. And _arse_ , he knows he should say. All his friends from back home give him shit about his accent, but he doesn't care. Nico doesn't say _arse_ , Nico says _ass_. Not that they talk about asses, not anymore. They don't talk about anything much now they're teammates and it makes Lewis sad, because he misses his friend, but they both know it's not forever.

And maybe it makes it easier, the distance between them, makes him able to see Nico as someone else, someone whose ass Lewis can stare at without it being creepy. Except that it _is_ creepy, it's totally creepy, but it's just that he can't sleep, and, objectively, Nico's ass is a lot like Nicole's. Maybe a little bigger, but it's _round_ , with that curve to it.

Sometimes, when he won a race or if he was just extra well-behaved, Nicole would let him fuck her in the ass, and it was _so_ good. Lewis bets that Nico's ass would feel just as good, and while Nico doesn't look anything like Nicole, he's almost as pretty. Almost. Lewis finds himself wondering what Nico's face is like when he comes, what noises he'd make when Lewis slid his cock inside him, nice and slow, whether he'd close his eyes, face screwed up, his mouth open enough that Lewis could see his tongue, wet and pink. 

_Nico_ is only two letters away from _Nicole_ , barely any difference at all, and maybe it doesn't matter, or maybe Lewis just needs to get laid.

" _Lewis_ ," says his engineer.

"What?" he answers, impatiently.

This break up has done his head in, seriously. It really, really has.

 

"How was your day?" Jenson asks, licking his way down Nico's spine later that night, tonguing at the very top of the crack of his arse.

"Okay." Nico shrugs.

"Who looked at you today?"

"I don't know."

"You _do_ know."

"Well," says Nico, "Mark says 'hi'."

"Mark, huh?" Jenson's fingers slide under Nico's hips, thumbs stroking over his sides.

"Mmm." Nico shuffles a little, settling himself against the bed, into Jenson's grasp. "He said you should fuck me extra-hard tonight."

"I always fuck you extra-hard," says Jenson. "Don't I?"

"You do," Nico replies. He pauses, then asks, "Are you jealous?"

"No," Jenson says, and the answer is automatic, reflexive, but it's the truth.

"No?"

"No." And Jenson smiles, his mouth against Nico's skin. "You're all mine."

"Oh yes," says Nico, satisfied, "I am."


End file.
